


Honor. Duty. Love.

by OnlyInAutumn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Love, POV Alternating, Pregnancy, Redemption, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-03-01 11:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13294023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyInAutumn/pseuds/OnlyInAutumn
Summary: In a strange turn of events, in only a few short years had Sansa found herself betrothed to one Lannister, Joffrey, whom she dreaded, wedded to another, Tyrion, who was too kind and refused her, then bedded by a third, the Kingslayer himself.An eight part series.





	1. Sea of Red

**Author's Note:**

> Little did I know this whole time that there were a bunch of you Jaime/Sansa fans out there. I've been thinking about writing this story for a while now, and I finally caved. I'm sure this plot has been written a bunch of times over, but I wanted to put my own twist on it. The timeline is a bit shuffled around to suit the story.
> 
> Enjoy.

—

**Jaime**

—

When Tyrion refused to bed his new wife, Lord Tywin became enraged as the days went on and the Stark girl had remained a virgin. Jaime had never seen such anger before, yelling at all three of his adult children that sat around the table, everything boiling over at once.  

“I have one son who breaks his most sacred vow and kills his king and becomes known as the Kingslayer. In later years, he gets captured by Robb Stark and returns to Kings Landing without a hand, a crucial part of being a knight.”

He turned his attention to Cersei, who was not particularly pleased that he pointed an accusing finger at her. “I have a daughter who thinks she is the most clever woman to walk the realm, and yet she cannot even control her own son, who in fact, got us in this whole mess to begin with by foolishly taking Ned Stark’s head.”

He shifted to Tyrion, who was keeping his head low. “And _you_ ,” he started, a bit calmer than before, but the malice still came out in his words. “You are given Sansa Stark, the key to unlocking the North, and yet you come to tell me you outright refuse to bed her after all these nights out of what? Respect, was it? Or was it that you just couldn’t manage to get it up for a girl that young.”

His words were mocking them all, and there was not much that they could say back in defense.

Their father’s nostrils flared. “Like it or not, we need that girl, and that girl needs to have a Lannister child. If you won’t bed her, you better believe that one of the Lannister men will, even if I as a last resort have to give you all another sibling in the process.”

It was a threat that rang in Jaime’s ears all too loud. He remembered Brienne’s words, wanting him to return Sansa to her mother. He would have to, even if he had to sneak her out of the capital, but that promise was lost, as was Robb and Catelyn Stark’s lives.

It almost made his stomach churn, in an unbelievable way. Who had he become? Why did he feel so different upon his return? It was true, he was without a hand, but it felt like he had lost a lot more along the journey home.

 _Some home this is_ , he scoffed to himself, preventing the roll of his eyes from happening.

“Some Lannisters you are,” Lord Tywin spat out, still on a roll with his insults, his fury still being tossed their way. “You all are a disgrace to our family name. Your mother would have been disappointed as well, don’t think for a moment that she wouldn’t.”

It was cruel to say that last part, to use their mother’s memory against them in such a way. From the table, Jaime could tell that Cersei was the one affected most by it, her jaw clenching, hands balling into fists. If he wasn’t their father, she might have leaped up onto the table and attacked him, as Cersei had always carried the weight of their mother’s death with her the most.

“If it doesn’t matter which Lannister, then just have Jaime do it,” Cersei spat back out, just as angry as their father, fueled by his comment about their mother. Jaime snapped his head over to the side, only to find that Cersei’s eyes were terrifying, her whole body seeming to shake with anger, temperament flying out of control. “You always wanted him to be the heir to Casterly Rock, he might as well produce Tyrion’s heir for you.”

Her words were scary, snapping Jaime out of the mindless stare he had been in. Surely, she could not have meant it, but she never even bothered to look at Jaime, eyes never leaving Tywin, just to see if her challenge would push him a bit further, to see what kind of screaming match they might be able to get into.

Jaime’s eyes trailed back over to Lord Tywin, who rested a hand down onto the table, leaning into it, eyes dead set on his daughter. What Cersei had said looked to have calmed him down. “You must have read my mind.”

It were as if the continent had shifted and left Jaime utterly confused about what had just transpired. “What?” he choked out, astounded. “No, I won’t.”

His refusal did not go over well, which could have been predicted.

“You’ll do as I say,” his father said, turning his attention to Jaime, “or I’ll send you back to Casterly Rock with permission from the King, and you’ll live out the rest of your days there alone and away from the rest of your family.”

Jaime sunk back in his seat, throwing a glance at Tyrion, who was looking at him with pity. Not the first time he had seen that look ever since he lost his hand…

It was a dream, he decided, it had to be. There was no way that his father was asking (commanding) him of such a thing—to impregnate Sansa and make it look like Tyrion had, her lawful husband, all in order to create a Lannister heir.

When had his family become so twisted, he began to wonder, but then realized it was he who had been in love with and fathering his twin sister’s children, passing them off Robert’s. Gods, they really were a twisted bunch. How had he not noticed it before?

“I will hear no more from any of you.” Tywin moved so he was right by Jaime. “It’s time for you to do your duty for your family. Get up. Come with me,” he urged, “before I get some other guards to pull you from that seat and into Lady Stark’s chambers.”

—

Jaime was not even sure how he had gotten there outside her door. He had remained complicit because he knew that Sansa Stark had suffered enough, and he could not let his father be the one to give her a child. She might throw herself off a cliff if that were the case, Jaime knew he would if he were in her shoes—not as if Jaime were better of a suiter, but he knew it was better him than Tywin Lannister.

Still, Jaime wondered what Brienne would think of him, knowing where he was about to be, what he was about to do to the very person that Brienne wanted to protect.

When they arrived at door, it was clear that Sansa had already been informed of what was going to happen, her newer handmaiden quickly excusing herself out of the door before they entered, Tywin slamming it shut behind them, making Jaime jump a bit from the noise.

“Since when did you become as jumpy as a girl,” he remarked.

Jaime felt rather defeated by that point, so he didn’t make a reply that might get him whacked across his face, as if he were still a child who needed to learn a lesson. Jaime had been knocked around enough already at the hands of Locke, and he was not in the mood to be hit in front of Sansa.

His eyes went to her, Sansa’s red hair having fallen loose at the sides of her head, forming around her pale, delicate face. She was sitting there facing the door in her ivory dressing gown that was worn under the more elegant ones provided for her. To his surprise, she did not look to be nervous, her eyes only fixating between the two men that stood before her.

“Has your handmaiden told you why Jaime is here?” Tywin’s deep voice asked, echoing throughout the room in a way that made Jaime’s skin crawl.

Sansa’s mouth parted, her head nodding, but she said not a word. In that moment, Jaime could not remember if he had ever heard her speak at all.

“Good.” He turned to Jaime, eyes narrowing. “I’m guessing you can’t get this off with one hand,” his father said smugly, beginning tearing off the armor, jerking his body as he forcefully tore away, the pieces clanging to the ground until Jaime had nothing but breeches on.

Jaime did not know what to expect, but it was not what his father did next, which was march himself over to the archways that opened up to the outside, letting the winds blow the light curtains. Jaime almost could not believe the sight, his father standing there with his back turned to the pair, all to make sure that Jaime would follow through with fucking the girl.

Oh.

That was how it was going to be.

It made his eyes fall back to Sansa, who was sitting at the edge of the bed, hunched over with her feet planted on the bed frame, her fingers playing with the bone of her ankles, waiting.

Waiting for Jaime.

She did not look at him, but at the floor near his feet. _At least he still had two of those_ , he thought sarcastically to himself.

Jaime drew in a breath, and then pulled at the laces of his breeches, knowing he had to go through with the deed. Sansa looked up at him then, and stupidly, he stopped his hands and looked at her. Her blue eyes were bright, even in the dim light only a few candles provided. He was frozen in his spot, as if her eyes on him were gluing him to the floor. He had never been naked in front of another woman in the context that it meant he would be inside of her next.

Jaime cleared his throat, forcing the lump that had formed away. The rest of the laces came undone, and Jaime bent over to pull the material down his legs, stepping out of the breeches entirely.

In front of him, Sansa’s eyes drifted to his manhood, blinking several times. His guess was that she had never seen a man bare, and especially not so close. Her face softened, pushing herself further backwards onto the bed, slowing letting her back hit the cream-colored sheets. From the view, he could see her chest moving, the breaths in and out being at a faster pace than normal.

Jaime approached the edge of the bed. He took note of how Sansa was marvelously tall for her age, laid out there before him, slender, but still had womanly curves that suited her height. Jaime bit at his bottom lip when he took the underpart of her knee into his palm, and pulled her downward towards him more, her dress hiking up in the process. She was accommodating, in that when he kneeled onto the bed, she let her legs fall to the side so he could fit between them.

It was odd when he settled his hips against hers, Sansa keeping her legs propped up, her thighs sealed against his own. She was definitely taller than Cersei, which meant that Jaime had a direct view of her face, their torsos lining up nearly perfectly. He could not kiss her on the lips, so he pressed his mouth onto her neck instead, feeling awful when he let his hand drift to her breast, modest in size. Though he gripped her over the cloth, it was still enough to send a wave of hunger coursing through him at a rapid pace.

Jaime wanted to tell her right then and there that he didn’t want to do it, that it was not his decision to be there, but it would have been difficult to get that across to her considering that his cock was hard against the soft flesh of her leg.

Jaime hated himself, hated that his body had betrayed him so easily, as if it were not even a fight.

As his breath picked up, it became clear to him that Sansa had no idea where to put her hands, fingers hesitant against his skin, hovering in the air. It wasn’t until he propped himself up on an elbow and shoved his hand down between them that she glued her palms onto his shoulderblades in preparation, sucking in a sharp breath.

He hesitated then, but she saw the small nod of her head to give him consent, to tell him to not stop. One way or another, one Lannister would have her tonight—she must have gathered that also.

It was hard to tell if she was nervous or simply ready to just get it over with. Lucky for her, it wasn’t going to take very long, as Cersei had refused him ever since he got back to Kings Landing, which meant he had been without a woman in many, many moons. He could not even remember the last time.

That was all about to change.

Jaime, in a last minute attempt to make things at least somewhat pleasant for Sansa, having the obvious feeling that she was not going to be slick for him, spit onto his hand and coated himself with it. There was a small groan that escaped as he grabbed his cock and slipped the tip into her opening.

So he did not awkwardly end up making eye contact with her, Jaime buried his head into her sea of hair as he thrust into her as gently as he could manage.

“Fuck,” he cursed into her hair that smelled of lemons and lavender.

She felt good—too good. She was tight around him in a way that made him shut his eyes in concentration. Jaime let his hand fall back to grip onto her thigh for steadiness as he began to rock against her after giving her a few moments to adjust.

The whole time she barely moved, letting him do the work, all while he listened to the sound of her breathing out of her mouth. It was true that she had remained mostly still, latched onto him as he continued to thrust, but there was something about the way that her hands had moved from his shoulderblades and were laid delicately onto his sides that was comforting, though he was certainly not the one of the pair that needed the comfort.

His body moved against her in a different way than he was used to. That time he was gentle, careful, but at the same time he was still starved for release.

Timing was going to be everything because he knew deep down that if she bled any time after the night was over that his father’s command would be for Jaime would be back on top of her again.

She had to have a son, end of story.

When Jaime felt himself about to spiral out of control, his fingers pressed onto the skin of thighs, giving one more thrust deep into Sansa before he spilled into her, not able to stop the loud moan that came out as euphoria swept through his entire body.

He stilled completely, body relaxing against the girl underneath him, out of breath.

Then, out of nowhere, his body acted on its own, his brain not able to catch up before he had lifted his head and brushed his lips against her bottom one. It was quick, only a peck, but it was enough to confuse him entirely. His mind caught up to him, and Jaime could not find a valid reason as to why he had kissed her like that. And for some reason, it had seemed as though she had molded her own lips against him—or maybe that had just been his imagination.

To the side of him, Jaime could hear that his father stepped back around, hearing that his son had finished. He did not bother to glance over, not wanting to see him standing there, happy that his son had hopefully furthered their line.

“It’s about time I retire for the night,” was all he said before he slipped out of the door.

They were alone.

Jaime pulled out of Sansa, slowly making his way off the bed, feeling shameful. He retrieved his forgotten breeches off the floor and pulled them up over his hips, glancing over at Sansa, who was lying there still, head tilted to the side as she watched the curtains flutter. One hand was at her side, the other was placed with the back of her hand bedded down into her long hair, where he had buried his face. Her legs were still parted, feet turned inward, her thin white dressing gown still pushed up around her thighs, but not exposing any skin further up.

Jaime thought about it then, if she were to get pregnant, if part of him were to take root inside of her and he would yet again be forced to be an uncle and not a father to any of his children. It hurt, but he knew there was no sense it letting it get to him, not then, not when Sansa was laying there motionless, partially covered up after he had fucked her until completion.

“Sansa,” he murmured, before he could stop himself, “I’m so sorry.”

He was apologizing for everything, really, everything that had ever happened to her at the hands of his family.

She tilted her head then, towards him, and he saw there were no tears in her eyes, though he expected them. “Goodnight, Ser Jaime.”

He finished lacing his breeches as best he could with only one good hand before leaving her there, feeling a massive amount of guilt for it, that guilt stabbing him with every step that he took.

Kingslayer.

Oath Breaker.

Man without Honor.

They were all titles that had been given to him by others. He had never quite felt that he was without honor, not until then as he pulled open the door after fucking Ned Stark’s daughter, and Jaime felt he truly had no honor left in him.

Had that night with Sansa been the worst thing he had ever done? There were so many things that Jaime would not be able to figure out what took the top spot.

He caught Cersei in the hallway, lingering at then end, her face full of displeasure. He wondered if she had heard him as he moaned when taking Sansa’s virginity. Jaime knew she was angry with him, that he had followed through with their father’s command, despite her being the one to bring it up in a fit of irritation. In that moment, though, it did not matter.

Nothing mattered.

Jaime quickly turned down another hallway, hoping to forget that night ever happened, silently praying that for Sansa’s sake, he put a child in her, a boy, and Lord Tywin would be happy enough to leave them all alone for a while.


	2. A Game of Glances

—

**Sansa**

—

Sansa was there in the gardens with Margaery, trying to enjoy the afternoon tea she had been invited to. Sansa thought of Margaery as her one true confidant, and offered the confession, though she was not supposed to tell a soul.

She had to tell someone, as it was eating away at her with it being a secret between the Lannister family and herself.

“Wow,” the soon-to-be Queen cooed from across the table, genuinely shocked. “I would not have expected that.”

“Lord Tyrion was not able to…I tried, but he refused to look at me. We carried on like that for many nights, ever since the wedding. Then, next thing I know, Jaime Lannister is before me.”

Sansa had been prepared to lay with Tyrion, as he was her husband. There really was no other option, as it was her duty and she was trapped there in Kings Landing, no family left to save her. Tyrion, however, was not able to perform, somewhat to her relief, not letting her undress. The only trouble was that Sansa knew there would be repercussions, that the Lannister family would not allow her to remain a maid for long.

She had been right.

When a servant came to the door explaining what would happen that night, it took her off guard. But, of course, Sansa had been taught to do her duty. She had been a good girl and accepted Jaime between her legs without a fuss, as only worse things would have come from that.

The surprising part was that she had not minded his touch.

Despite all the rumors about Cersei and Jaime, those rumors which she too thought to be true, Sansa had found that Jaime Lannister inside of her was far from the worst feeling. She had found herself thinking about it a few times in the past couple days, evaluating his gentle nature when she had time to spare.

But, had he put a son in her—that was the question. It had been a full fortnight since that night.

Margaery did her best to keep her mind off of the details. “I will be married soon, and hopefully with child soon after that. Perhaps, our children could grow up together and be best friends. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

It would.

The trouble was that it made her think of Arya and how Sansa wished she would have been nicer to her in Winterfell. Sansa had not acted like a sister or a friend, causing her much sorrow.

Margaery reached over and took her hand. “Sansa, dear, all will be fine,” she tried to ease her, earnest with her manner. “Remember what I said, your son will be the _heir_ to Casterly Rock _and_ Winterfell. And, what you’re not thinking about is that you’ll have your own little family, a little baby to love and care for, to teach him or her as they grow. You won’t feel alone anymore.”

Her own family. Herself, her child, Tyrion…and Jaime?

She wasn’t sure how it was all going to work out. Would Jaime want to be involved with his child’s life? Would Tyrion want that? More importantly, would Tywin want that? Or was it going to be that they would pretend it was never Jaime who came to her bed?

So many question, yet she would likely not get many answers.

“May I ask, what was it like? Were you scared because it was Jaime, not Tyrion?”

She had built it up in her mind that it was going to be Tyrion to take her maidenhood, so it was a whirlwind of events when it ended up being Jaime. _Better than Joffrey_ , she thought, _way better than him_. Joffrey would have had guards hold her down as he took her. At least Jaime had been kind to her, letting her keep her sleeping gown on the whole time, not forcing her to remove it.

Sansa began to bite at her nails, a terrible and gross habit she thought she had left behind in Winterfell. But the thought came and persisted, making her anxious, about how if she were not to be pregnant, when would Jaime come back to her chambers, and if Lord Tywin would be there again. That had been the worst part of the whole scenario.

She should be sick at the thought, but it was not terrible with Jaime. For a moment there, it had been nice to have someone, have him there so close to her body in an intimate way. His hands on her again was an idea that was somewhat tender…

Her mind snapped out of it when she heard the raspy giggle of a woman she despised, yet had to be graceful towards. Cersei was approaching with the King, smiling at something he had said, probably some kind of mockery towards the Starks or Sansa herself. Margaery and Sansa rose out of their seats on the patio and walked forward to greet them.

Cersei’s eyes seemed to be aggressively trying to burn a hole right through Sansa as she stopped. She had always been falsely nice to Sansa in order to get her to do what she wanted. She hated the both of them, standing there arm in arm as if they weren’t the evil people they were.

Several guards had strolled up behind them, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard being one of them. She could see Jaime out of the corner of her eye. When she sideways glanced in his direction, they made eye contact, though she quickly shifted her eyes away. It had only been a fortnight ago that he had been inside of her, moving his body against hers. Sansa felt a blush creep up on her cheeks, and she hoped that no one else would notice.

She could be carrying his child right then and she might not even know it yet.

“Your Grace,” Sansa and Margaery greeted at the same time.

“Lady Margaery,” greeted Joffrey. His jaw went stiff when he looked to Margaery’s left, eyes going colder. “Lady _Sansa_.”

With the tone he used with her name, Sansa braced herself for whatever snide comment would come next. He opened his mouth with a sneer, a wicked grin appearing, maybe to say something more about her dead mother and brother. Something strange happened then, as his eyes travelled over to Margaery, who was at her side, and his face fell.

There was a silence that persisted, everyone unsure of what might follow.

Finally, he spoke again, that time, in a low voice. “That dress…the color suits you.”

A compliment, she could hardly believe it.

They all exchanged a look, all utterly shocked. Perhaps it was true, and Margaery really did know how to tame Joffrey.

“T-Thank you, Your Grace,” she stuttered, recovering from the odd interaction.

She thought she would be a fool if she thought that Joffrey being placated by Margaery would be a continuing pattern. When they got married, not too long afterwards, he would likely grow tired of her, uncaring about her wants and wishes, and revert back to usual habits—tormenting Sansa whenever he could.

It was a horrid thought, and for some reason it made Sansa accidently let her eyes trail back over to Jaime’s, only to find that his eyes were already on her, his face hard to read.

“Join us, Lady Margaery,” Joffrey requested, offering up his other arm.

Margaery took Sansa’s hand and squeezed before she walked off. Sansa watched them go down the path and further towards the gardens, the guards following. Though, not every guard was behind them, noted by both Sansa and Cersei, who had thrown a glance over her shoulder to find that Jaime was still in his spot.

_Did Cersei know?_ Sansa wondered with some panic.

Sansa’s light pink dress fluttered in the wind as she turned towards Jaime, the skirts at the bottom a bit dirty from walking around. She felt out of place there with the way he looked at her, whatever it was in his eyes was not quite pity, but a mixture of a masked emotion too complex for her to comprehend without knowing him.

“Lady Sansa,” he greeted.

She froze, but only for a moment. “Ser Jaime.”

The only reason she could think that he would be talking to her was because his father wanted their midnight _appointments_ to resume until she got pregnant, not to wait until another moon to see. She could see Lord Tywin thinking it as waste time. After all, the more often a man were to be inside of a woman, the more chance they had at having her fall pregnant.

Sansa sucked in a breath. “Did your father want you to talk with me?” she asked, trying to get to the point.

Jaime’s brows pulled together. “No.”

He said nothing after that, but she was waiting for something else. When he said nothing more, the silence was too awkward, and Sansa decided it might be best for her to leave.

Her heart rate increased as she said. “I have to go.”

Sansa tried to hurry past him, but Jaime reached out and he grabbed her arm softly. She snapped back around, his touch triggering the memories again, how it felt when he pushed inside of her, the way he sounded when it felt good for him. Her body went hot, and it was not due to the weather.

Jaime released his grip, hand going into a ball at his side with flexing fingers. “I apologize. I should not have grabbed you.”

She almost laughed out loud for all those around her to hear. “You’re shy about grabbing my _arm_?” she questioned, enjoying the way he averted his eyes. “You’ve grabbed a lot more before…”

Jaime cleared his throat, turning his head over his shoulder to make sure that no one was around. He guided her back over to the patio where the large trellis with vines blocked them off from others. Sansa could smell the flowers that were attached, weaved in and out through the vines, noticing for the first time how deep of a pink they were, the yellow center poking out. Sansa reached out and plucked one off, twirling it in her fingers to avoid any nervous ticks she might show since she was alone with Jaime again.

He was still making sure that no one was around when Sansa looked up at him, tilting her head to gaze. It was true, he was handsome. He had a strong body, all adorned in armor. It was strange now that she knew what he looked like without all that armor on, how his muscles flexed and what the weight of him felt like. She remembered the sound of the metal being pulled from him by his father right before he was on top of her.

“Listen, Lady Sansa, I wanted to tell you this before, but I didn’t know how to say it—”

She shook her head. “I know you didn’t want to,” she told him, keeping her voice a murmur, “but that you _had_ to. I know how things work around here.”

Jaime exhaled, most likely relieved. “I feel horrible. Your life here is not what you imagined it to be.”

It was far from what she had originally expected, but she didn’t have to be married to Joffrey anymore—that was what she kept telling herself.

There was a quick glance to her stomach. “Do you feel any different?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, putting the flower back onto the vine, knowing the pretty color would fade soon and the flower would shrivel up. In truth, she could not tell if she felt any different from previous days. She had not bled yet, but the next moon had not arrived. “Sometimes, I think yes, but it could be my imagination or wishful thinking.”

Jaime nodded along with her words, taking them in.

“I want you to know that I’ll protect you.”

She rolled her eyes, not even thinking about being courteous. What was the point, anyways, after they had been forced into bed together. “You can’t protect me from Joffrey. No one can. _Especially_ if he thinks I’m carrying Tyrion’s child when it would really be yours.”

She was so blunt about it that a vein in Jaime’s neck protruded at that last part. She was not sure if it was because he knew that Joffrey would mock her further, or at the idea that she would one day have Jaime’s child, if she were not already pregnant from the first night.

He stepped closer, and Sansa remembered the small kiss he had given her right after Jaime had spilled his seed inside of her. How strange that had been—for him to kiss her on the lips. It made her doubt if he really was involved with Cersei, because it made no sense for him to do such a thing if he were.

_Why did you kiss me_? she wanted to ask, but bit her tongue.

She wondered how it would feel if he were to properly kiss her, there being stubble where a beard would grow, not clean shaven as he had been a fortnight ago.

_I’ll protect you_.

She understood that he wanted to do that, or at least he thought that he wanted to, but suddenly Sansa was filled with anger, a hotness growing inside of her, bubbling up to the surface.

“Joffrey has been hurting and humiliating me ever since my father lost his head,” she acknowledged in a strong, unwavering voice. “No one helped me then and no one can help me now.”

It was rude of her to act in such a way, but she turned away from Jaime, walking down the few steps there were on the patio area, and began to walk away, shuffling her skirts so it would be easier for her steps to be rushed.

—

Another fortnight had passed by, and it was finally time for the wedding of Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell. It was extraordinarily expensive, as Tyrion had told her, but it was supposed to be spectacular.

Spectacular or not, she would have a boring time, she had already decided. It was not as if she would be dancing and be all smiles for the wedding, it would be just another day she wished to be back in her chambers with only her own company.

The purple dress she wore was a bit much for the weather, Sansa feeling a bit warm, and almost a bit faint. The breeze was nice on her face, cooling her off somewhat.

With her husband next to her, Sansa slowly sauntered towards where the feast was going to be taking place, in no particular hurry to get there. It was a sunny day, beaming rays coming down out of a cloudless sky, nourishing the flowers and foliage that grew all around. The trees above covered the pathway, the shade much needed.

Sansa was gazing over at some ribbon strewn through trees when she caught the scent of the food that was being prepared at the feast ahead of them, something not sitting right with her. It were as if her stomach had been twisted and turned upside down, suddenly feeling the sharp pang of nausea.

She came to an abrupt halt, hand clutching her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Tyrion quickly grabbed a clay vase, ditching the flowers and water, holding it out for her. She would have protested, but there was no other option, as she hunched over, heaving. They stepped to the side and Sansa threw up the contents of her small breakfast into the vase that Tyrion was holding out for her, her hands holding onto the sides.

He waved at a few people to keep walking past them as she pulled away. “Nothing to see here,” Tyrion muttered to the onlookers.

Sansa wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, shooting Tyrion a look, both of them knowing that it was a sign. He gave her a small smile before setting the vase back onto the ground, sticking the flowers back inside.

Sansa recoiled at how he had acted so casually, placing the vase back. “What are you doing?”

“Come, My Lady, we should get you seated.”

Holding her hand the whole rest of the way, Tyrion helped her up the steps and into her chair, going off to get her some cold water. Sansa reclined backwards, letting her head hit the back, eyes slanting. With a tilt of her head, she caught sight of the crowd that was seated in front of her, but that was not of interest. Jaime was looking at her, and even with the distance, she could make out the concern on is face. But upon realizing she had met his gaze, he turned the other way.

It seemed to be a game they were playing.

Lady Olenna approached Sansa, letting her hand brush her cheek. “Oh, my dear, are you ill? You look as if you’ve been dusted with flour, you’re so pale.”

“I’m fine,” she tried to tell her.

Her hands played with the two twists that she wore down the sides of her shoulders, a quick look at the necklace she wore. “Feel better, my darling, you should get some rest. A good, long rest is always good for the body.”

Sansa thought about it for a moment as Lady Olenna strolled back to her seat. A good, long rest would not do much if her body was reacting to another inhabitant growing. It would simply be a symptom that would go away on its own when the time was right. The food had been the trigger, so perhaps if she were to get away from the smells she would be better off.

—

**Jaime**

—

He had to admit, it was rather dull standing there during the activities of the day, but he was used to it. Jaime watched, everyone else participated.

It was towards the end of the feast that Oberyn Martell decided to stroll up next to Jaime, though he did not bother looking over at the Dornish man, covered in a sunny, yellow outfit that reflected the light from above. “Marvelous day for a wedding.”

Small talk was something that Jaime hated dearly. Tyrion was good with small talk, but Jaime abhorred it. He didn’t see the point.

Jaime continued to survey the area. “It is.”

“So many people have showed up for such an important moment in history. I keep looking around at all the faces, meeting new people at every turn. And, if you don’t mind me saying, I can’t help but notice that you keep staring over at Lady Sansa’s direction,” Oberyn remarked, coming right out and saying it.

His words caught him off caught. Jaime turned half way towards him, defensive. “Are you watching me?”

“I like people. I like watching people. I find that you can tell a lot about a person by where their gaze falls.”

He turned his face back forward, trying to concentrate. “Are you trying to insinuate something or am I missing the point of this conversation you’ve started?”

“It was nothing but an observation I found interesting.” Oberyn chuckled. “You should learn to not be so serious all of the time.”

Lucky for Jaime, Brienne interrupted. “Pardon, Prince Oberyn, but may I have a word with Ser Jaime?”

Oberyn smiled slyly, took Brienne’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Of course.”

For a moment there he was about to thank her for getting rid of Oberyn, watching him walk back to his table to seat Ellaria Sand on his lap, but Jaime found out that Brienne was also going to bring up Sansa. She was not about to give up on making Jaime know that he made a vow.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he groaned, “so don’t bother.”

 “We have to talk about it,” she persisted. Her gaze fell over to Sansa, but Jaime did not dare look in case Oberyn was still taking notes on his behavior. “It’s remarkable that she has made it this far with all she has gone through. She deserves to get away. You know this place only breeds misery.”

The breeding part made him close his eyes, the flashes of his night with Sansa going through his mind all at once. Jaime began to walk away, but Brienne followed, her stride easily keeping up with him.

 “She is safe here,” he was forced to claim.

“In Kings Landing?” barked Brienne, laughing, attracting the attention of a few wedding attendees. “Are you mad?”

“Keep your voice down,” he hushed her, stopping directly in front of Brienne, eyes widened with urgency. “What do you want me to do?” he slurred, getting aggravated by her persistence on the matter. “She’s married now, I can’t take her anywhere, and there’s nowhere to go. Winterfell is in ruins and the Boltons have the North now. Do you think that Lord Bolton would let her live if he got his hands on her?”

Brienne’s eyes saddened, turning forward, frustrated by Jaime’s inability to see things her way.

“She’ll have a child soon,” Jaime mentioned, eyes settling on Sansa at the end of the table, not able to keep himself from not looking.

_She’ll have a child soon,_ he repeated in his head, and Jaime would be the Lannister to give her one.

“I highly doubt that,” Brienne claimed.

“My father will make sure of it,” he refuted in absolute certainty, almost too low to be heard.

If he told Brienne the truth, there was a chance that she would choke him to death right then and there, a risk he was not about to take. Another day, maybe, but not that day.

“He’s choking!”

Margaery’s voice called him back to the scene before him, the crowd all getting to their feet to get a look. Jaime burst forward into the crowd, pushing people aside, only to see Joffrey on the floor, spitting up something vile in color.

His mind went blank about what to do and he got pushed out of the way by Cersei. “Don’t touch him! Joffrey!”

There would be no helping him. Jaime knew it was some kind of poison that was working its way through Joffrey. Death was certain, and that meant there was a murderer among them.

It even surprised Jaime that his next instinct was Sansa. He saw her sitting there with a pale look on her face, staring at the scene with her lips parted, suddenly eyeing her own cup, as was his father, who had begun picking them up and spilling the wine out onto the ground. Lord Tywin said something, but Jaime did not hear what it was over the wailing.

“Joffrey!”

His name was ringing in Jaime’s ears, Cersei’s voice so loud it was deafening. Jaime launched up off the ground and rushed past Tyrion and Margaery to get to Sansa. Lord Tywin met his eyes. “Get her back inside,” he ordered sternly. “No one eats or drinks until I say so.”

His father sent Tommen away with several other guards as well, going in the opposite direction. As Jaime walked, he caught the curious side eyeing glance of Olenna Tyrell from the table, watching him pull Sansa away, her brow raised as her head turned with the two of them. Lady Olenna was too smart to not think that something was going on that she was unaware of.

“The King…” Sansa started to mutter.

She began to turn her head, but Jaime didn’t want her to see the aftermath of what the poison did, so he placed at hand on her back to keep her moving forward.

He could hear in the background that Cersei was accusing Tyrion, but Jaime could not help his little brother then. He had to make sure Sansa got inside first.

Halfway up the stairs to the doors of the entrance, Sansa stopped, leaning against a pillar. “I’m going to be sick again,” she warned him, fanning herself with her hand, blinking profusely. “I feel faint.”

“Again?” he questioned.

He could tell she was going fast, reaching out for him, and Jaime stepped forward to take her in his arms before she fell, eyes rolling back into her head as she fainted. With her body limp, Jaime picked her up in one swoop, her head rolling onto the armor.

Jaime brought her all the way to her chambers, as she was no longer sharing one with Tyrion by his father’s orders, and had a handmaid opened the door for him before he sent her off for water. Jaime laid Sansa down in the bed, the material from her heavy dress swamping her.

He watched her there for a moment too long, her breathing slow. He moved a stray few pieces of hair out of her face, allowing the back of her fingers to brush her cheeks.

There was a sense of duty that he felt to her, to protect her. Even with all that had just happened outside with the murder of Joffrey, all Jaime wanted to do was to sit in the chair in the corner and wait for Sansa to wake up, but her handmaidens came in with water and a cloth, so Jaime excused himself from the room. His body had left, but his mind was still there in that room, wondering how she was doing.


	3. The Lion and the Wolf

—

**Jaime**

—

Bronn suggested they resume training, and Jaime was more than happy to oblige, needing a distraction from the madness that was his life. However, he quickly found out that the training session was partially an excuse for Bronn to taunt him every chance he got.

“I heard you fucked the Stark girl.”

Jaime’s shoulders slumped, the tip of his sparring sword hitting the ground with a loud thud. _Unbelievable._ “He told you.”

Why was he even surprised? 

“He did.” Bronn cocked his head to the side, a smug grin appearing. “He told me not to tell you that he had told me, but he still told me the grand news.”

“Grand news,” Jaime mocked the words.

“He also told me the thought of fucking her made him ill. Clearly, you didn’t have any problems in that department, now did you?”

Jaime pressed on the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Bronn sure knew how to give a headache. And it if he thought he would get off the hook, he was wrong. Bronn didn’t give two shits about anyone or how they felt.

Bronn started to push his buttons even further, pointing an accusing finger at him, wanting to make him angry. “Bet you came in her pretty fucking quick, didn’t you?”

His blood started to boil, jaw clenching. “You should be quiet.”

“You want to fuck her again? I bet you do.”

Jaime’s hand gripped the sparring sword harder. “Stop talking.”

“Or what?” he scoffed, still with a smile, knowing he was getting to Jaime. “The one-handed man is going to beat me?”

He had a bolt of energy strike him from the anger, and the pair ended up sparring some more, that time more ruthless than before, Jaime becoming hot-headed because of his comments. Only when the sword got knocked out of his hand did Jaime decide to stop. He walked over to the stones that lined the area, right by the water that was crashing up in small waves, spitting sea water up.

Bronn sat down next to Jaime by the water’s edge, getting the hint that Jaime was in need of a break. “One thing is for sure, that will be one attractive child,” he mentioned, looking towards the sky. “I’m hoping for a girl. I think you can imagine why.”

“My father needs a boy.”

“No need to worry about that. My guess is there you’re going to give her more than one child and more than one boy. Got to have a backup in case the first boy dies.”

It made him think about Joffrey. The first boy _had_ died. Cersei had been so frantic, so animalistic at the feast as she watched him die, yet, even then, Jaime did not feel much of anything. Joffrey had been a cruel boy, one that could not be controlled, and had tormented whomever he wanted. It was sad, but Jaime thought he got what he deserved.

Bronn seemed to know his thoughts, as he interrupted the silence. “I’ve met a lot of people in my day, but I’ve got to say that your family is by far the most fucked up I’ve ever seen.”

“Should you be saying that about the people who pay you?”

“I reckon you’ll still pay me no matter what I say. I’m the best chance you’ve got at swinging that sword again and not looking like a fool when you do.”

Bronn was honest—at least there was that.

“You know what’s funny about all this?”

“What?” Jaime snapped.

“That you’re not denying any of it.”

Jaime did not want to acknowledge anything, opting to stay silent. He tilted his head up towards the sun as he took a swig of water. It was one of those times in his life where he was second guessing everything. Cersei didn’t want him, telling him he was too late. His brother was being accused of murdering Joffrey, and his father had the plan in his mind that Jaime was going to be a first-time father, but not actually get to be one to the child (again).

How did his life get so fucked up?

Sometimes he wished that Robb Stark was still alive and had Jaime as a prisoner. Then again, Kings Landing was feeling like a prison itself recently.

“Get up now, let’s go again.”

Part of Jaime didn’t want to. He would never be as good again, not without his right hand. Yet, he still found himself getting to his feet, ready to persevere.

—

It had been five days since Tyrion was arrested for the murder, and Jaime felt like he was living in a nightmare. He had just gotten off his shift, headed for his chambers, when he stopped halfway, finding that he wanted to make sure that Sansa was settled in.

_Sansa._

He had to admit, it was strange to feel protective over someone else other than a family member, but he had come to realize that both Brienne and Tyrion were right, the girl had been through enough at the hands of his own family.

Maybe he wasn’t the person she wanted to see, but he was damn well going to make sure that Sansa felt safe, even if it were just for one night.

As he rounded the corner to the hallway her room was located in and filed down the stairs noisily, he spotted Sansa at the end, looking out one of the windows with an obscured view. He halted, Sansa glancing over to see him there. The lantern she held in her hand got placed on the ledge by the window, turning towards him fully.

“Ser Jaime, what are you doing here?”

He opened his mouth, but had forgotten all words.

Sansa blew out the candles, leaving the lantern there on the ledge as she approached him. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he affirmed, finding his voice again. “I came to see you.”

“See me?” she questioned further. “Why?”

He gripped his sword, feeling a touch nervous. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Jaime knew she would find that statement ridiculous, especially after their conversation in the garden days ago, so he added, “There is a killer on the loose, a killer who murdered Joffrey right within the confines of the royal walls.”

She paused, watching him. “On the loose? You don’t believe that Tyrion did it?”

“ _Did_ he do it?” he asked her, finding it cringeworthy that he had rushed the words.

If anyone knew the truth, Jaime thought Sansa would be the one.

“I don’t think so.”

“Neither do I,” he told her, even though he still felt an inch of doubt in him.

Sansa shifted from leg to leg carefully. “No one else believes he didn’t do it. What will happen to him?”

It sounded like _what will happen to me_ , even though she would never say that. Jaime thought for the first time that Sansa was most likely scared again, as her husband was accused of killing the King.   

As if the dusted had settled in some way, it had been kicked back up again, a new layer added.

“There will be a trial soon. I’ll have to talk to my father…” He didn’t finish, his mind spiraling. Vulnerability never came easy for Jaime, but he felt like he could open up around Sansa. “I feel like my worst fears have come to life with my little brother being condemned for this and there is nothing I can to.”

She reached out and took his hand. It pulled him back to reality, and it was just the two of them there in the hallway again with Sansa’s thumb stroking his knuckles. He found himself looking down at her hand on his, a comfort that he was not used to.

When she didn’t let go of his hand, Jaime glanced back to her. The torch in the hallway brought out the color of her hair. Sansa was not so much innocent anymore, not doe-eyed and fragile, not after Joffrey and Cersei and every other person who had betrayed her trust, but she was still holding onto the softness in her face. There was no cruelty there, no terrible sins she was hanging on to. Sansa was just trying to stay alive in a pit filled with lions and other beasts that would devour the others, but suddenly Jaime realized that to make it that far, she must truly be a wolf.

He was the lion and she was the wolf. What a combination.

“Jaime?” she called his name, something mysterious in her tone.

He smiled because she didn’t add Ser in front of his name—and she didn’t have to. The informal use was much better.

“Yes?”

“Are you lonely, too?”

There in the dark corner of the castle, Jaime took a step closer. There was something about Sansa that made his veins go hot. His hand reached out to brush her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Her words had hit him somewhere deep, in a place that had a lot that he had locked away for many years.

“Yes,” he answered honestly, the confession coming out as a defeated exhaled.

He was lonely and lost— _and_ without a hand. Could he be anymore pathetic?

Sansa’s long lashes fluttered. Her voice was so quiet, so delicate when she told him, “I’ve felt alone for so long now, but for the first time, I didn’t feel so alone when I was with you.”

Jaime felt like he had fallen down into a hole, one where the top was unreachable. Sansa had sucked him in with one sentence, preventing him from getting out—and the tricky part was that he didn’t even want to leave the place she had brought him to.

“Why did you kiss me?” she asked all of a sudden, as if it were a question that was bottled up inside.

He knew exactly what she was referring to.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head before lowering it, eyes dropping to the ground. “If I’m honest, in part, I just wanted to.”

Was it shame he felt? He could not tell.

“I think about it a lot. I think about that night…because I think I liked it.”

Jaime brought his eyes back to hers. “Liked what?” he asked, needing to know if what she was saying was correctly being interpreted.

“You.” It was there that sweet, little Sansa Stark uttered words that made him lose control. “Kiss me again. I want you to kiss me again, please.”

His body wanted palms gripping her thighs as he pulled her upwards and settled against her with her legs open for him, but with one hand, that would be near impossible.

Her fingers grabbed at his sleeve, yanking him closer, his brain shutting off entirely for one blissful moment in time. Sansa was tall enough to get onto her toes and reach his mouth, Jaime stepping into her as she did, pinning her against the wall lightly.

The armor he wore inhibited him from feeling her body against him, and it was then that Jaime realized that he had been lying to himself the whole time about not wanting her, about not wanting to fuck her. Bronn had seen through the mask and called him on it, and there was no denying it, not when he had his tongue slipping into her mouth.

“Jaime,” she whispered.

He pulled away, thinking that she would send him away, that it was all some misunderstanding and he had been too forward. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “We have to get this armor off of you.”

She slipped away from him, headed back down the hallway where she landed at her own door, opening it. Jaime was prompted to follow her, understanding, and stepped inside.

When he latched the door behind them, Sansa’s fingers went to her simple gown, and Jaime let her undo it just enough until he could take over. He had to be the one to do it. Jaime wanted to see how the dress fell off of her body when he yanked it downward at the waist, the material smoothing over her cream-colored breasts, falling to a pile at her feet.

There were too many things he wanted to do to her all at once, and with one hand, it was a problem. But, one hand and a mouth—well, he had a good feeling that he could get somewhere with that.

Once the armor was off, Jaime sat down onto her bed at the edge and pulled Sansa onto his lap. With her knees on either side of his thighs, she lined up so that he had a perfect angle. He put his mouth onto her breast, his tongue running over the skin, eliciting a small moan from Sansa, the sound rattling through him and to his cock that hardened at the vocals.

Her hands went into his newly short cropped hair, Jaime feeling her head tip backwards. His good hand grabbed her ass before he planted her onto the bed.

He wished to go slow, but he was too impatient, too undisciplined with this girl, needing her too much that his body was reacting before his mind had a chance to catch up to what he was doing. One moment he still dressed, then one moment he had only had his breeches on, laces half undone from his body moving against her.

Jaime kissed his way down her body—clavicle, breasts, under her ribs, navel. He pushed her thigh farther apart, burying his head between her legs. She hadn’t been touched like that before, and a part of Jaime, a sick and twisted part, was happy that it was him who got to show her what it was like.

She began to stir around on her back as his tongue ran back and forth, little words being murmured, ones that he could not understand. It didn’t fucking matter what she was saying, only that in between her mumbled sentences she would say his name.

_Jaime._

_Jaime._

_Jaime._

He could not stand it any longer, the more she moved, the more she talked, it went straight down to his cock that was painfully hard against the breeches. He sucked in a deep breath when he removed his face from her womanhood. She gave him a look as if to ask him why he was stopping, but he needed her to finish with himself inside of her. It was selfish of him, yes, he would admit to that, but he craved the feeling. Right then and there, Jaime needed her like he needed the air in his lungs.

“Say you want me,” he said against her stomach, a desperate plea as he kissed her. He dragged his bottom lip and tongue all the way back up to her neck. “Tell me.”

He would not have it be like the first time. Jaime needed her to say the words.

“I want you,” Sansa said, voice calm and steady, even through her heavy breathing.

Jaime pulled at the breeches and got them down past his hips, then gave up entirely because his body was about to explode. He shimmied down into place, first checking to make sure she was telling the truth by smoothing his fingers along her opening, finding it wet for him. It pleased him, a boatsful smile appearing on his face.

Jaime did not ease into her slowly that time. Sansa’s hands flatted on his lower back, nails digging into his skin, and he thrusted into her in one swift motion. The groan that came out was loud, almost embarrassingly loud, and he hoped that no one was walking by the room.

He kissed her a few times before his rocking into her tightness was too distracting, and he needed to focus if he was going to last at least somewhat of a decent amount of time.

Jaime caught sight of the engraved lions on her bed frame, stared at it for a moment with one thrust into her, almost wanting to hack the lions off with his sword.

How in the world he ended up there, maybe he wouldn’t ever know. His son had just died, killed by poison on his wedding day in front of hundreds, his family in unrest, his brother about to be tried for murder…and there was Jaime on top of Sansa Stark.

Funny world it was.

He had begun to wonder if the Gods were messing with him as some form of punishment. Then again, what kind of punishment was Sansa? She was more of a blessing than anything else.

“Jaime,” she murmured again.

He cursed, rocking into her harder. Using the elbow of the arm that housed his golden hand to steady himself, Jaime shoved his hand down to rub Sansa in a way he knew would make her feel pleasure. Due to his previous movements with his mouth on her, Sansa started to become more vocal.

When he felt her contracting against him, there was nothing in the Seven Kingdoms to keep him going. The thought occurred to him to pull out of her, to spill his seed somewhere else, but he realized also in that instance that it didn’t even matter if he climaxed inside of Sansa because he was _supposed_ to get her pregnant anyways.

Sansa moaned with an open mouth, back arching, and Jaime went to press his lips against hers one more time as he also got to the point where pleasure filled every part of his body.

As his body stilled, Jaime relaxed. He laid there on top of Sansa, a golden hand resting on her pillow next to her head, and Sansa stroked his back with her fingers. _This is what it’s supposed to be like,_ he thought to himself. There was enjoyment about the comfort Sansa gave him in their time together. He did not want it to end, but knew that soon he would have to put his clothes back on and find his way back to his own chambers.

_Not yet_ , he told himself, _just a little longer_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy to see you all are enjoying the story so far! Thanks for all the support :)


	4. Deeds of the Past that Haunt

**—**

**Sansa**

**—**

It was the first time she had woken up and felt like she would be able to make it through the day.

She could breathe again.

From her place still tucked up in bed, Sansa could hear the call of the birds outside the window, and Sansa wondered if they were there every morning. If so, it was the first time she had actually listened.

Sansa rolled to her back and sat up. She tossed the covers off, looking down at her legs, seeing no blood even though she should have bled by that point. No blood, only a stickiness from the previous night remained—from Jaime. Her hands brushed the skin of her slender inner thighs, remembering how his head had been in between her legs before his lower half had been. She had never realized that it would feel so good to have his tongue running along her womanhood like that, nor that he would even want to do that. Jaime was not just out for his own pleasure, but her own.

She remembered the wild sensation that overcame her, the feeling that took her by surprise. Sansa wanted it again. She never took herself as being greedy, but there was something blooming inside of her—in more than one way, as she was mostly convinced that Jaime had gotten her pregnant from their first night together.

Absentmindedly, Sansa let her hand fall to her stomach, letting a palm fall flat, feeling the movements as she breathed. Truthfully, she had grown warmer to the idea overall. If there truly was a child growing in there, she told herself she would do everything in her power to keep him or her safe from the world, safe from anyone who would do harm.

With Joffrey dead, it was one less person on the list of potential harmers.

Sansa almost allowed herself to smirk. Watching Joffrey suffocate from poison was satisfying. She remembered him ordering Ser Ilyn Payne to give him her father’s head, unjustly calling him a traitor. Joffrey got what he deserved, and a small part of her wished his death had been more drawn out, more painful, more bloody, all so that it could amount to the torture she had received over the few short years she had been in Kings Landing under the captive of the Lannisters.

Maybe if there was justice in the world and the afterlife, the Gods would hand over some more punishment for such an evil boy wherever he might have gone off to after his death. Sansa knew he was definitely not in the same place as her family because her family members had been good, kind people, who had been unnecessarily slaughtered.

They never should have gone to the southern lands. Sansa wished more than anything to go back to Winterfell before King Robert had arrived, before her family was all gone, to a time when they were happy.

Sansa decided to stop thinking about it then, her heart hurting. Joffrey was dead and Sansa was not—it brought her joy and that was all she needed to remind herself to get out of bed.

Before she left her room, Sansa would have to remember to mask her face, pretending to be sorrowful. She wore no black and she did not mourn, but she was supposed to pretend to care. Everyone pretended to care, no one but Cersei actually affected.

Life moved on. Tommen would be King and Margaery would be his Queen. Sansa thought it would be a good match, and maybe her new friend marrying a gentle boy would mean that Sansa had a chance at regaining somewhat of a normal life—if that was possible.

If only someone would just poison Cersei as well, and then Sansa really would feel the chances were tilted in her favor…

Since Shae had disappeared, Sansa had been given a new handmaiden, Lenya. When she knocked on the door, Sansa told her to go away, not wanting her to see the aftermath of the night before, opting to wash herself off alone before dressing. She had not taken a liking to the new handmaiden, fearing that she was nothing but a spy for the Lannisters, Cersei specifically.

Even thinking her name sent a chill through Sansa. Hatred was a horrible emotion, but Sansa had no fear of embracing it anymore, as the Lannisters were responsible for her family’s deaths. Not all Lannister though, just Joffrey, Cersei and Tywin. Sansa was still fond of Tyrion, as he had always been to kind to her. And Jaime, well, she had found a place in her heart for Jaime also. The more she saw him, the more she realized that Jaime had another side to him, and that they were both trapped in their own way.

But maybe being trapped together was not too bad…

Sansa offered her body to him completely on her own, nothing prompting her but her own needs and wants to be close to another.

Better to have someone than no one, and Jaime was her someone, whatever that might mean.

Sansa finished belting the wine colored dress given to her by Margaery, pulling her hair into a half updo, twisting the strands at the back, which she secured with some pins. With her hand on the door, Sansa situated her face in the right way to make it look expressionless.

There in the halls, she wondered if she might run into Jaime again. The idea excited her in a strange way, making her step a bit more rushed, and threatened to expose that she really had not care in the world the King was dead—as a corner of her mouth wanted to keep turning upward when she thought of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

Instead of running into him, however, Podrick Payne came to her in a hurry. From what she had seen of him, he was a nice enough boy, so any ill will she might have towards him from being related to the man that chopped off her father’s head was disregarded. Unless he proved otherwise.

“Lady Sansa, Tyrion would like for you to testify at this trial,” he told her, eyes hopeful.

Her first thought was, yes, she would testify. Her second thought was would Jaime think it was a good idea? The third, of course, was what would happen to her is she testified to Tyrion’s good nature and that there was no way that he would have done such a thing, even if he hatred Joffrey almost as much as Sansa did.

Once Podrick left, Sansa was thinking about how she would try to get Jaime alone again to ask about the trial. He was the only one who would be able to give her information about what was being planned. And being alone with him again also meant that Sansa knew what might transpire, as it had the previous night, and it made her begin to toy with the necklace around her neck.

—

**Jaime**

—

He decided to visit Tyrion.

Why the decision was such a difficult one for him, Jaime would feel guilty for later. He had been sitting in the cell with his little brother for quite some time, not saying anything. Jaime knew the game—Tyrion was waiting for Jaime to crack and be the first one to break the silence, which he ultimately did.

“It’s not so bad in here,” he told him, trying to make the situation seem less awful, looking around the cell as he feigned interest.

Tyrion blinked, face unchanging. “Don’t tell me that you came all this way to see and discuss my living conditions while I am held prisoner for a crime I did not commit.”

There it was—his confession of innocence. It was enough for Jaime to believe him. Sansa was right, Tyrion would not kill Joffrey, even if he wanted to. Tyrion had never killed anyone in cold blood, that was a sin that hung on Jaime’s shoulders.

_Kingslayer._

_Oath Breaker._

It made him think back when he killed his cousin to escape— _Kinslayer_ —then to when he shoved little Bran Stark out of the tower, hoping the fall would kill him. _Who was that person who did all those deeds?_ he wondered _, and why was he so cruel?_

If Sansa knew all the things he had done, she would never want him in her bed or have to carry his child, let alone want to look at him. All he would be was another monster to her, and that was painful, painful in a way that Jaime could not process.

“No, I didn’t.”

They fell back into more silence, nothing but the sounds of footsteps filling the dry, musty air for a few minutes.

“How is Sansa?” Tyrion finally asked, bringing up the one thing that Jaime would rather not discuss, given the circumstances. “Is my new wife missing me terribly?”

The humor went unnoticed because, _oh_ , it occurred to him then that Jaime had fucked Tyrion’s wife _twice_ —once because his father forced him into it, and another time on his own accord because he had wanted to. Pure desire had driven him into her room.

“She’s…well, she’s holding up.”

Tyrion snorted, then chuckled. “Has she thrown a party celebrating Joffrey’s death yet?”

“No, but she would have every reason to.” Jaime winced. “A lot of people would.”

“So, you admit it? Joffrey was a monster.” He didn’t say anything else, but Tyrion started to direct the conversation elsewhere. “I will be found guilty, you know that I will. What will happen to Sansa now that her husband is going to be sentenced to death for killing a King?”

“I don’t know, and you won’t be sentenced to death, I won’t allow it.”

Tyrion had little interest in himself right then, which Jaime should have expected. Tyrion was noble, unlike Jaime. He concerned himself with the well-being of others, which made him unique when it came to Lannisters. Jaime wondered what his life would have been like if he had been more like Tyrion from the start.

“She’s pregnant.”

It came out of the blue, Jaime snapping his head up. Sansa had not mentioned that to Jaime, so he doubted what Tyrion had said.

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I do,” he almost sung from the corner. “She has not said anything about her next blood having come yet, at least not to me. Sansa has the symptoms of being with child. She got ill at the feast, puked right into a vase, the poor thing.”

“That could just be—”

“It could, but it’s not,” Tyrion interjected dryly. “She’s pregnant, even if she hasn’t accepted it yet. Don’t be a fool.”

Jaime shook his head, still in denial. “I just saw her last night and—”

“ _Saw_ her?” he asked in a higher, accusing voice. Tyrion knew exactly what Jaime had been trying to hide, narrowing his eyes at the older brother. “Last _night_?”

Jaime dipped his head down, his finger going over his golden hand, suddenly humbled into silence. He felt like a dog who needed to be disciplined.

Jaime breathed in and out deeply, shifting around on the hay that was laid out on the floor, not that it made it any more comfortable. “I need to ask you something, and I need for you to answer me honestly. Do you think I’m a terrible person?”

“That’s a loaded question.”

Jaime rolled his eyes, banging his head on the wall behind him a little too hard, cringing at the pain it gave, even if he did deserve it. “I’m fucking my brother’s wife in an attempt to impregnate her. After all I’ve done, all these years, I’m not noble, that we can agree on. But, do you think I’m a terrible person?”

Tyrion noticed the sincerity of his question, propping himself up from his slouched position, most likely seeing the look of distraught on Jaime’s face.

“It’s unlike you to care about something like that?” he mentioned, eyeing Jaime suspiciously. “You’ve changed.”

Jaime scratched the back of his head, anxious. _You’ve changed_. He never thought he would ever hear that sentence.

“Why are you so concerned about this?”

Jaime brought his shoulder up. “I’ve been thinking about the past.”

“It’s more than that,” Tyrion argued, digging deeper than Jaime wished him to. “Do you feel something for Sansa, perhaps? Is this why all of a sudden these things are eating away at you?”

Jaime turned his eyes away from Tyrion, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, his silence indicating his agreement with his brother.

“It must be strange for you, to want another other than Cersei.” He paused, brilliant mind of his churning previous words. “You went to Sansa last night. She did want you, too, right?”

Jaime’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring. “You think I would take her against her will?”

Tyrion held up his hands. “It was just a question. After all, father did force you to fuck her the first time.”

Jaime hung his head again—being reminded that his father had that kind of power over Jaime brought him shame. Their father or not, all his children feared him in some way.

Tyrion’s voice was softer when he spoke again. “You have to make sure that she’s safe, Jaime.”

It was astonishing how Tyrion could so quickly forget about his own unknown fate, using his time with Jaime there in his cell to try and secure Sansa’s future. Tyrion had always been the better brother. There was no doubt in his mind about that.

“I will.”

“Safe from Cersei,” he clarified, keeping his voice down, eyeing the door. He leaned over, whispering, “She’ll try something. She’s an evil woman, and when she finds out that Sansa is carrying your child, with the proof growing right there under her dress, she won’t be happy. She got rid of any children that Robert gave her. What do you think she will do with Sansa’s?”

It was a harsh truth that slapped him right in the face. The thought sickened his stomach rapidly.

“Think about it, brother. Cersei won’t share. Another layer to all of this is that Sansa cannot be pregnant with a traitor’s son, that won’t happen, let alone a dead traitor’s son. She’s the Key to the North, as father says, which makes her the most important person to him. My marriage is unconsummated. It’s your child, Jaime. Father will ask you to leave the Kingsguard to marry her. You’re going to have to do it, for her sake.”

It was all true what Tyrion said. If Sansa was indeed pregnant with his child and Tyrion was going to be tried for murdering his eldest, their father would have already thought through the dilemma and prepared himself for the future of their House.

“Sansa’s been through enough,” Jaime echoed Brienne’s words.

Tyrion got up from his spot, hobbling over to Jaime to sit down next to him. His hand landed on Jaime’s arm in an encouraging manner. “Just imagine it. You could have a life with her. Sansa is your ticket out of the hell hole we’ve called home for so long. Go home to our real home. Go to Casterly Rock. What would be the issue?”

It was a fair enough question.

“I don’t know how to be anything but a member of the Kingsguard,” he murmured, staring up at the ceiling, feeling deflated. “I’m not good at anything else. I don’t know how to care for someone or even how to take care of a child. I don’t know how to rule Casterly Rock. I don’t know how to rule anything.”

All of his family members knew how to handle political and financial matters, but Jaime had never had any interest in that.

“I didn’t realize how down on yourself you were. When did this happen?”

Jaime held up the golden hand. “Losing this made me realize how inept at most everything I am.”

“That’s not true,” his little brother immediately tried to defend.

Jaime shook his head, letting it lightly hit the back of the wall again, staring blankly at a rotting wooden pillar in the middle of the room. “It is.”

They fell back into silence, two brothers sitting there next to each other.

Despite his reservations, Jaime allowed his mind to wander back to what Tyrion had told him, his words haunting.

Sansa Stark, the Lady of Casterly Rock. It had a nice sound to it, he thought, completely forgetting that she was Sansa Lannister, not Stark anymore. But, really, would she ever not be a Stark? And would a place other than the North ever be her home?


	5. One Way or Another

—

**Jaime**

—

“Tyrion wants me to testify,” Sansa started, the two of them alone in her room. “Is it wise? What do you think?”

She was looking at him, hopeful eyes, asking him for advice, for his thoughts on the matter. Jaime could not remember the last time someone asked for his opinion. Tyrion was right—it was strange to want someone else other than Cersei—and even stranger to _only_ want someone else other than his twin.

His mind wandered places, her question going unanswered.

“Jaime?”

He snapped out of it, her calling his name bringing him back to wherever it was that he had gone to. “Oh, yes, you should testify. I would also, but I can’t. Tyrion needs as much support as he can get, and as you said, he has always been courteous.”

“I thought you might say that,” she smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I just wanted to know your thoughts. I never know…”

“Who to trust?” he tried to finish her sentence.

Sansa had said it multiple times before, so he knew that was what she was trying to get across to him.

“Not only that, but I never know what the right thing to do is, the action that would keep myself safe. I know that must be difficult to understand since you are someone who has always done the protecting and not the one who needs it.”

_I’ll keep you safe_ , he almost blurted out, but he remembered the first time that he said it in the gardens that it did not go over very well, Sansa walking off after she told him that no one could keep her safe. He would not make the same mistake twice and risk her making him leave.

“Have you talked to your father about what will happen after the trial?”

He shook his head in reply, knowing that that was his opportunity to bring it up about her being pregnant. Instead, he found his eyes glazing over the small amount of cleavage that was available for him to see with his height advantage. At his left side, he cracked his knuckles, the thoughts persisting in his mind.

_Pay attention_ , he reminded himself, _and stop staring_.

She stepped closer to him, what he was looking for. Jaime wanted her to be the first to make a move, secretly what he had been waiting for.

“I want to give you something,” Jaime started off, prompting him to remember the original reason why he had gone to her room that night. Out of his pocket, he handed a knife over to her. “Keep this on you. Use it if you need to. You said you don’t feel safe, so perhaps this will aid in easing your worries.”

Sansa’s slender hand reached out and took the knife. He was expecting her to refuse, but she must have known better by that point. Sansa examined the blade, tilting it from side to side, flicker of the candles bouncing off the steel.

“You do care,” she said, sounding somewhat astonished.

More than she knew…

“I do.”

Sansa rested the blade down onto the table next to her, her fingers dragging across the wood until her hand fell back to her side. When she turned back her eyes were different when she looked up at Jaime. She was not so much shy anymore, maybe because she had acclimated to Jaime, not afraid to show any type of wanting. It was good to know that the desire was not one sided.

However, it was in no way good timing, that they both knew— _but_ it didn’t matter.

Sansa swayed forward, her hands pulling upward to grasp the leather tunic he was wearing. Jaime got a feeling in stomach that excited him, but there was also a calmness that washed over him, his breath releasing all the unnecessary built up tension in his body.

Sansa was preoccupied with the laces of his tunic, twirling them around her fingers. Jaime took that moment to watch her. However, when her hand travelled south and touched the bulge in his breeches, Jaime’s eyes lazily shutting. When both hands where on his stomach, pushing him backwards, Jaime let his legs hit the bed before he tumbled backwards onto it, pulling Sansa with him.

It was going to happen once again, just as it had the other night. They were about to fall into a habit, he thought— _hoped_.

Part of him just wanted to lay there with her, to sleep next to her and wake up when dawn came to see her still asleep—and that was how he knew that his feelings had gone deeper than surface level. Jaime wanted _more_ of her—wanted to know her thoughts, her feelings, her fears, dreams, and hopes, but right then and there, he wanted her body more than anything.

She was still on top of him when he decided that he wanted to see her body move when he was inside of her. Jaime pulled the dress up and over her head, pulling off his own clothes until there was a heap of the material off the side of the featherbed.

It was endearing to see that Sansa had no clue as to what she should do next. She allowed Jaime to maneuver her so that she was shifted to straddle him, a full view of her in front of him.

“I don’t know how,” she breathed out.

Jaime pushed his hips upward. “Do what feels natural.”

She went slow at first, getting used to the position as he got inside of her, watching Jaime as he relished in the feeling. He grabbed her waist with his one hand to keep her steady as she moved back and forth, his thumbs stroked the side of her stomach, wondering if there was another inhabitant in there growing.

A baby.

_His_ baby.

When he let his hand snake up her stomach to her breast, he noticed that it felt fuller than before. Tyrion had been convinced that Sansa was pregnant, and a part of Jaime knew it to be true. In that moment, however, he was too wrapped up in her, not able to question her and ruin the mood as his mind blanked out. The world didn’t matter when Sansa was there with him.

Jaime bit down on his bottom lip, shutting his eyes tight as Sansa rocked harder against her, eventually releasing inside of her. She came to a still once Jaime took a lock of red in his fingers and twirled it as he caught his breath once more.

As Sansa curled up next to him in her bed, Jaime had the thought of getting to have her next to him every night. Tyrion had given him too much to think about.

“I have to go,” he said, regretting he had to.

She nodded, pulling the covers up further, understanding the position he was in. Jaime suddenly found himself kissing her forehead, lingering a moment before he had to pull away, and she shifted over to her side to go to sleep.

Jaime pulled his clothes on and ruffled his hair back into place. He was about to leave, lingering at the door, but he could not resist any longer. He needed to know the truth, no more skirting around the issue. “I need to ask you something,” he finally blurted out before the question ate him alive from the inside out.

Sansa peeked over the covers at him standing there, already looking sleepy. “I am. At least, I’m very certain.”

He wondered how she knew what he was going to ask, but the reality of Sansa verbally telling him she thought she was with child, well, he let that sink in.

“Are you upset?”

“No,” he told her, “of course not. Are you?”

Sana yawned. “Surprisingly, no.”

It was some sort of validation that whatever it was that was going on between them was going to somehow work out in the end, one way or another. Tyrion’s words rang back to him, of how Jaime should marry Sansa and get her out of King’s Landing. To be able to have an actual family, to raise a child, to be a father—that was an entirely new concept to Jaime, and one that was tempting enough for him to consider the possibility.

What a glorious possibility…and it was all in his hands.

But there were other pressing matters as well, and Jaime knew that he had to be the one to solve the problems that had been laid out. The first being that he had to set a plan in motion to ensure his little brother’s survival. Like it or not, Tyrion Lannister was going to make it out of King’s Landing in one piece. It was hard to imagine a world without him in it, and one where he was not available to be an uncle to Jaime and Sansa’s child.

—

Jaime found himself in a familiar walk down the corridor to where his twin would be spending her evening. So many times he had made the trip, yet it was the first time that it felt wrong. Every step forward made him more uncomfortable, much to his surprise.

Jaime was in no way looking forward to seeing Cersei or what sniggering remark she might make, as she had been doing recently. She had not said more than twenty words to him since the night that she told their father that Jaime should be the one to put a child in Sansa. Logically, he thought she might be angry at herself for mentioning it, but this was Cersei, so she put all the blame on him. It was solely Jaime not fault, not their father and not Cersei’s. No, the blame was never on them.

It was true that Cersei and him had hardly spoken since the big meeting they all had with their father before he had been dragged off to Sansa. She was angry with him, but also distracted by the pain of losing Joffrey.

Lucky for Jaime, he was tired of caring. 

Tired of being the secret.

Tired of everything, really.

Cersei was not in a good mood when the doors to her chambers opened and Jaime walked in to the brightly lit room, more than two dozen candles burning. She gave him a look once over, and Jaime briefly wondered if there was a way for her to tell that he had just been with Sansa not too long ago.

“How is our little brother doing?” she asked straight away.

“Do you care?”

“Not at all,” she said dryly. “I heard you went to see him though. What did you speak of?”

“A lot of things.”

Cersei’s jaw tightened more than what looked to be comfortable. “What kind of things?”

“I thought you didn’t care?” he mentioned, trying to catch her.

“I don’t,” she said back, calm in her tone, but the vein in her neck still protruded.

Jaime scoffed, irritated. “Then why bother asking me?”

Cersei approached him, her stride wide and hurried, finger pointed down to the ground. “You were talking with our brother. Did he tell you how he murdered our son? How he poisoned him?”

Jaime rolled his eyes. For years he was mocked as not being smart, yet Cersei couldn’t even see the truth that Tyrion would never hurt his own family, even if he really wanted to kill Joffrey.

“He didn’t do it. It has to be someone else…”

“It was that little bitch, Sansa!”

Her ferocity was alarming, even to Jaime. He found himself taking a step back closer to the door in what was an unconscious maneuver, perhaps his brain telling him to get the fuck out before she devoured everything in sight.

How had he been so wrong for so many years?

Because he was selfish and self-centered. _Was_. In the past tense. Jaime knew he had to be a new man, if not for himself, then for Sansa, for this child she was carrying that was part him and part Sansa.

It had become so clear all of a sudden, that his judgment had been clouded over by lust and affection for Cersei. For years he had been blind.

Not anymore.

Jaime refused to be a sheep.

“They must have plotted together,” Cersei said right before the goblet of wine was finished off and slammed back down onto the table angrily, ignoring what Jaime had told her.

Jaime shook his head, almost not believing that she was coming to such a conclusion. “It was not Sansa, you know this.”

“Joffrey was a monster,” he finally stated, getting it off his chest. “I understand that you loved him anyways, but he would have done no good for the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Who cares about the Seven Kingdoms,” she spat out wildly, motioning to the capital that was right outside the windows. “I want our brother dead,” she seethed, as if she had not even heard his words, “ _and_ Sansa.”

It was Jaime’s turn to become agitated, his teeth clenching together. He was losing his composure at a rapid rate. “It was not Sansa.”

“You must really love fucking her if you came all this way to defend that murderous bitch to me.”

Something flared up inside of him—the true lion coming out, an uncontrolled fit of anger overtaking him.

“She’s pregnant with my child!” he yelled, uncaring if anyone heard. Jaime grabbed Cersei by the neck, his hand clenching around his twin’s throat. Even with one hand, he was stronger than she was, and Cersei knew that, not even fighting him, possibly from the shock of it. “If you dare hurt her, even think of hurting her,” he started with a snarl, the threat rolling off his tongue without hesitation, “and I’ll kill you myself. Do you understand? I’m already the Kingslayer, and a kinslayer, what’s one more to the list, huh?”

Her startled look faded, then falling into a look of hatred, her lips quivering with rage, but Jaime knew the feelings were mutual. How they had ended up in that position, he guessed it was a long time coming.

“Get out,” she commanded through gritted teeth.

“My pleasure.”

When the door slammed behind him, Jaime decided that he was going to indulge the fantasies and get Sansa out of there, out of the pool of misery that was Kings Landing. The only place to go was Casterly Rock. He would do whatever it took to ensure Sansa’s safety—and he would marry her if needed and get her the fuck out of King’s Landing. One way or another, they would be out of there in a fortnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while! Sorry for the wait, but life got a little hectic.


	6. The Heir to Casterly Rock

—

**Sansa**

—

Sansa could not fall asleep that night. She tossed and turned in the bed, and as comfortable as it was, she still found herself wide awake as soon as Jaime had left her. She gave up, turning onto her back with the sheets pulled tightly around her chest. Sansa did not bother to light a candle, but instead stared upward in the dimly lit arches in the room.

Her mind wandered, and so did her hands, falling against her stomach. It did not feel as flat as before, and Sansa began to wonder when she would start to show the pregnancy. Her still girlish figure would show signs of womanhood as she grew.

She had no fears of her being a mother. Sansa knew that she would excel at the role. All her life she had looked forward to having her own children, she just had not expected it to be under her current circumstances. She had expected to be in a castle of her own, surrounded by ladies and a loving husband. She had paid so much attention to all the tales and songs that it had made her oblivious to the real would, all the sad realities that women faced. A stupid girl she had been, but not anymore. Sansa promised herself that.

She had also decided not to dwell. Nothing ever changed or improved from dwelling, as she had learned.

Rumors of the Dragon Queen had begun to circulate by whispers through the Red Keep. The child in Sansa gave her hope, but so did the idea that the Lannisters would be overthrown by someone more powerful than they ever could be. Sansa felt relatively certain that Daenerys Targaryen would not hurt her, therefore, she would not fret over another invasion. In fact, that time she might even welcome the chaos.

Through it all, she would love this child of hers, and protect him or her with all she had no matter what happened in the future. Let it be known that Sansa Stark still had a lot of fight left in her.

 

—

**Jaime**

—

The next morning, he got up as soon as the sun rose, the Red Keep still quiet as he walked through the halls, not many around. He stood outside his father’s chambers until the door swung open. Needless to say, Tywin Lannister was more than surprised to see his eldest son waiting for him, leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed.

“I want to speak with you,” Jaime politely told him before any other words could be spoken.

“Regarding?” his father asked, raising his eyebrow with intrigue, but also slight annoyance.

If he said right away that he wanted to discuss Tyrion, his father might brush him off. He decided to say, “Sansa.”

“I assume this can’t wait,” he concluded, knowing that his son never came and waited outside his door to talk. “Come in, we’ll speak privately. Who knows what ears could be lurking in these halls.”

His father had just shut the door when Jaime firmly started. “Tyrion cannot die,” he started off, about to lay the cards on the table for his father to see.

“I thought this was about Sansa—”

“It is. In return for Tyrion’s safety, I’ll marry Sansa and take her to Casterly Rock. I’ll resign from the Kingsguard and take my place at the Rock as your heir, just as you always wished.”

Tywin had a hard time managing to hide the smile he wore as he settled into a chair along a square wooden table, the color of maple. Jaime could not even remember a time he looked to be so happy, almost overjoyed. “Why the sudden change in attitude?” he pursued, fishing for information that would confirm his suspicions.

Jaime took a seat and sat back in the chair, letting the hard back made up of wood press into his spine. “Sansa believes she’s with child.”

Tywin nodded, his smirk still present. No man would ever be happier than his father in that present moment. All his hopes and dreams were coming true, not that he actually deserved them.

“Very good.”

“Very good?” Jaime repeated, somewhat aggressive. “Is that all you have to say?”

“I accept. How about that?”

“Accept what?”

“Your proposal. Tyrion will be found guilty and sent to the Wall. An annulment will be granted following the guilty verdict. Tommen will marry Margaery soon, but you will marry Sansa before so there are no questions. You will take her to Casterly Rock, where she will give birth to a Lannister child.”

Jaime was a bit astounded. He had it all planned out already—maybe it had been the plan all along. If anyone was good at playing games, it was Tywin Lannister.

For a brief moment, Jaime considered that his father might have had a hand in Joffrey’s murder. It made sense. Tommen would be easier to control, after all, and Tyrion would be blamed for the death. Jaime would then try to save his life, and of course their father would have thought that an annulment meant that Sansa could be married off to someone else. He would be hitting so many birds with one stone that it was impossible to not consider involvement.  

Would he really, though? Was he capable of that?

“Do we have to stay for Tommen and Margaery’s wedding?” he questioned, irritated. He wanted to get Sansa out as soon as he could, no delays. “Is it necessary?”

His father reclined, eyeing Jaime in a strange way. “Do you not want to see your nephew, the King, say his vows to his bride, the future Queen?”

In other words, Jaime had to stay. There would be no argument.

Jaime, in a huff, travelled over to the window to stare out into the sky, contemplating his next move before he might say something that he regretted. His father had a way of making everything more impossible. For the first time, Jaime knew what it felt like to be truly trapped, a position he did not like being in.

“How soon can I marry Sansa?” he inquired, turning his head over his broad shoulder, notably not biting down on his teeth to make a show of his resentment.

Once again, not even any hesitation on his father’s part. “The very day I receive the annulment papers.” There was the slight tip of his mouth upwards. “It should not be long.”

“Cersei won’t like it,” Jaime told his father, turning back around to face him like a true man. He felt the compulsion to add, “She hates Sansa. Having her marry Tyrion was a game to her, but to me? No, she—”

His father snorted a laugh. “If I cared about every little thing that displeased your sister I would never get anything done.” His voice was cold, as it usually was, not showing much of any emotion. “Cersei will wish you good future in your marriage and bid you a farewell when the time comes. I’ll make sure of it.”

She would rather cut out her tongue than say that to Jaime or Sansa.

“Sansa is not safe here,” Jaime told his father, trying to get to the real point. “I don’t think you know how ruthless Cersei can be, especially when she doesn’t like what is occurring around her.”

He held up a hand to indicate that Jaime should stop talking, a brow arched upward. “You think I don’t know what my own children are capable of?” There was something sinisterly serious in his eyes. As brave as Jaime knew himself to be, the look his father portrayed was giving him chills, even where his hand once had been. “Sansa Stark is carrying the future of our house. Do you really think that I would be stupid enough to leave her to the wind to fend for herself?”

Jaime threw his hands into the air. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know a lot of things,” his father mocked, having to add that on. “Her food will be tasted from here on out. I’ll have guards with her by day. No one lets her out of their sight or they will have to answer to me directly. At night, she will have six guards at her door.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “That is not enough,” he scoffed.

“King Tommen will accept your resignation from your position at any time,” his father said calmly and unblinking, picking up a deep red apple that was in a woven basket on the table. He got back to his feet and headed for the door. “You may accompany her to her bedchamber through the night once you no longer where your armor. Perhaps that will put your concerns to rest.”

—

His next stop had been to catch Sansa, departing from his father’s chambers to her door, knocking lightly until she opened it just a tiny crack. The blue eyes peeked out hesitantly and seeing it was only Jaime, she door opened wider. Without any words, she ushered him in and the door was shut behind them.

“Marriage?” she asked, taken aback. “Casterly Rock?”

Sansa’s blue eyes were easy to get lost in, but that time around Jaime was there to strictly inform her of the plan he had hatched together. There, cuddled by her window in her room, Jaime relayed everything he knew to her.

“My father is having your marriage to Tyrion annulled. I have a feeling that he has already had that in the works for some time now, ever since Tyrion was arrested, since your marriage to him is unconsummated.”

“What of Tyrion? What will happen?” she asked, rushed and worried.

Jaime found it admirable that she was as concerned for Tyrion as he was.

“The best that can happen is he will be found guilty and sent to the Night’s Watch to live out the rest of his days…it’s better than death, is suppose. Thinking further on it, my father wouldn’t have his own son sentenced to death, not after all this time. He must have had this all put together since Joffrey’s murder.”

“The Wall?” Sansa processed all the new information, inhaling deeply before letting it out. “My brother is there. He’ll be safe enough, but it doesn’t seem fair to him.”

“I know, but it’s the best that I can do. If he were to stay here, Cersei would have him killed in his sleep. The Wall is as far away as he can get. You should know that he wanted me to make sure that you are safe. That was his main worry—you.” Jaime looked over his shoulder at the closed door, lowering his voice as he turned back, remembering what his father had remarked about with who knew what ears might be lurking in the halls. “It won’t be long now. Tyrion’s trial is days away. I have to give up being in the Kingsguard and then I’ll take you as my wife. No one will have to know that his child of ours was conceived out of marriage. We will depart for Casterly Rock as soon as Margaery marries Tommen.”

Sansa stared up at Jaime with wonder. “Give up the Kingsguard?”

“Yes, my vows don’t allow me to take a wife.”

Her mouth parted. “You would do all that for _me_?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Of course.”

“Oh,” she breathed, light and silent.

Jaime took a step closer, his fingers running up her exposed arm in her short-sleeved dress. “Nothing in this world matters more to me than you and this child now.”

His chance at freedom, his chance at a normal life, to be a father to a child.

“What of Cersei?” she whispered, visibly fearful. “She will be angry with me when she finds out.”

Jaime did not dare tell her that he had already told his twin of the impending baby that Sansa carried. He did not want to cause her any more anxiety.

Jaime’s jaw tensed. “My father is arranging guards to be with you always, and outside your door as you sleep. You’ll also have someone to taste your food before it gets eaten. Believe me, my father wants nothing more than this child. He is finally getting the Lannister heir he always wanted.”

“If it’s a boy,” Sansa scoffed.

Jaime understood her anger about that. “He’ll be pacified with a girl for a time too, if that is what you are having. There is always the promise of more children, if you wanted that.”

With Sansa being a sibling to five others, Jaime imagined she might want something similar when she was a mother. Jaime wouldn’t mind that either. He thought about a bunch of little ones bopping around the halls of Casterly Rock, a warm thought.

“I’d rather focus on this one right now,” Sansa calmly detailed her thoughts out loud. “It makes me nervous to be here. I wish we could leave right away.”

Jaime thought about it some more, unnerved by Sansa’s obvious concern. She had every right to be nervous at every turn, being in King’s Landing. Jaime ended up rubbing the back of his neck as a new idea came to mind, a reckless one, one that would surely not go over well with his family. “Maybe we should just leave then, forget the weddings and the trial. Let’s just go and figure it out once we arrive at Casterly Rock. We’ll get a septon there when you’re out of danger. The annulment will still happen with us here or not.”

“Leave _now_?”

It sounded more like _are you mad?_

Maybe he was. Maybe they both were for not having left earlier.

“Yes, unless you want to stay here for another fortnight. It’s your decision.”

She took a moment to consider it. “What about your father?”

“Fuck what he thinks,” Jaime cursed. “He’ll get over it and find some clever way to explain our absences.”

Sansa nodded, agreeing. “Let’s go. I want to go…with you.”

Jaime kissed the top of her head out of instinct, lingering a moment. “Pack only the things you absolutely need.” He looked around. “Most of this can be replaced once at Casterly Rock. Be ready by tonight and I’ll come back for you.”

He had much to do by the time that darkness would come over the capitol—find Tommen to give up on his vow to the Kingsguard, say goodbye to Tyrion, arrange the departure with the horses, and pay for the silence over the matter. Come nightfall, they would be on the only road west towards Casterly Rock.


	7. The Road that Leads West

—

**Sansa**

—

There was not much she would be taking. No dresses, no brushes, no clips for her hair, no shoes. Sansa thought it would be better if nothing looked out of the ordinary, her room in the particular manner it was on any given day. The only thing in her small bag was the doll her father had given to her, the last that remained other than her memories. The doll made of porcelain would one day be given to her own daughter to play with and tell her the stories of Lord Eddard Stark, of Winterfell, and the North.

Sitting there on the bed, waiting, staring at the door, she was listening to the outside. There was a horrible feeling that she could not let go off, a certain fear that was creeping up and made her stomach go into tight knots. Every pair of footsteps that went by made her anxious, listening to see if they slowed or stopped outside her door. Her nerves were not spiked because she was prepping to leave with Jaime Lannister to embark on a journey to Casterly Rock, but all that could happen before that time.

_Hide._

The idea popped into her mind as she thought through all the possibilities of horrid ways she would die there in the castle before she had the chance to escape its clutches.

Hide.

But, where?

She didn’t take any more time to think about it, instead opting for action. Sansa threw a cloak over her which had been stashed away under the bed, one that Shae had smuggled in for her, pulling it to cover her auburn hair that made her recognizable. Sansa tucked a few loose stands of red behind her ears as she exited the door and closed it for what she knew would be the last time.

She would never return while Cersei was there.

Never.

The hallways were mostly empty, Sansa dodging into corners as people walked by. From what she could tell, no one had seen her.

The idea came to her about were to hideout and she travelled quickly. Upon arriving at the stables with her small bag tucked under the cloak, Sansa snuck in just as the stable boy exited to get some food for the horses. She swiftly crossed into the back and she settled down in an empty stall, staying quiet. Only there did she allow herself to let go of a breath, slow inhales following that calming her.

The stables were not the best smelling of places, but it was better to be stuck there than dead somewhere inside the Red Keep.

She kept quiet the whole time, sitting on fresh hay in the corner with her legs pulled into her chest, her head resting on her knees. In the next stall over, a chocolate brown horse poked its head over to examine the intruder, who was clearly not another horse. Sansa looked up to see the big eyes staring down at her, thick eyelashes blinking, a true beauty in the world. The way that the horse was looking at her made Sansa think that it knew she was hiding away from something bad, keeping her company by watching over her.

Sansa wanted to but did not dare to reach up her hand and brush her fingers across the face of the horse.

The other horses were stirring around in their stalls until the sun descended and the inside of the stable became dark. Sansa curled further into the corner and laid her head against the wooden wall of the stall near the gate that opened, waiting. She knew Jaime would find her one way or another, it was just a matter of time. Sansa was tempted to close her eyes, but stayed aware, listening to the horses and any boots that might be coming through the stable.

There was not much she could do but pull at the ends of her hair, looping some pieces into a knot before pulling it free out of boredom. When feet rustling around in the stable became audible once more, Sansa froze.

_Please, don’t let them find me_ , she thought to herself.

To her relief, she heard Jaime’s voice talking to who she thought must have been the stableboy, pulling horses out of their stalls near the front.

“Has anyone come in here?” Jaime demanded.

“No,” said the boy, his tone taken aback, “I haven’t seen anyone. Just me.”

Sansa pulled her hood down and slowly sneaked out of the stall, looking around the corner before she rushed into the center of the stable where spare hay pieces laid out against the dirt.

“Jaime.”

He turned and noticed her there, walking forward. “Sansa,” he breathed out, looking like he had seen the sun for the first time. Jaime’s strong arms picked her up off the ground as he embraced her in a way that she recalled her father embracing her mother. “I thought—”

“That Cersei got to me?” she whispered, as she was set back onto the dirt floor. Sansa shook her head, pulling away, looking up at him. “I wasn’t about to give her the chance.”

She wanted to kiss him then but held back. There would be time for that later.

A second horse was pulled out of a stall that was colored light brown with a white strip down the middle of its eyes, one that would be placed next to a black one, dark as the night sky, which would be Jaime’s. Sansa shook her head. Sansa looked back at the chocolate brown one that had kept her company during the many hours she spent in the stable alone and pointed. “I want that one.”

“You heard her,” Jaime told the boy, obliging with the request.

They were one step further once he got her up on the horse, Sansa not even bothering to ride side saddle. It would be easier to hold on with one leg over each side—the practical way.

She would not be able to release the tension that had built up in her until they were far enough away from King’s Landing, maybe not even until they reached Casterly Rock. However, she would remind herself that with every step her horse would take, she was more and more free.

—

Jaime did not want to stop and neither did Sansa. King’s Landing was well out of sight and it would most likely not be morning or early afternoon until anyone noticed that they were missing, but they kept on marching forward along that path that headed west. Jaime kept an eye on her the whole time, looking back every minute to check on Sansa to see if she was getting sleepy. Falling off the horse due to exhaustion was not ideal. It had been a long time since she had slept and Sansa had been wide awake, even through the darkness of the night where trees above blocked out the moon and the stars. It was not until small bits of light started to appear over the horizon that she was beginning to get pulled into slumber.

For only a few hours they pulled to the side and Sansa fell to sleep in Jaime’s arms as he watched and kept guard of what could barely be called a camp. As she drifted off, she heard him talk about how he devised a plan to set his brother free instead of going to the Night’s Watch and Sansa approved of the decision. Tyrion deserved a life somewhere and she hoped that he was able to find happiness wherever he ended up.

By the time it was evening again, they came across and inn. Sansa convinced Jaime to stay. She knew he needed a good rest before they continued any further.

His golden hand was covered when they walked inside, the smell of fresh baked bread filling the place from floor to ceiling. Jaime knew exactly who to seek out for a room so Sansa waited patiently. She watched him approach a woman serving supper to a group, and out of his pocket, he plopped a bag of coins into her thin hand.

“I’d like to not be disturbed,” he told her.

The woman eyed the bag, nodding in a hurried way. “Yes, right this way.”

Down a narrow hall, they took the last door on the left. Fatigue hit Sansa then, as soon as the door closed behind them and she allowed herself to sit down on the bed. Everything in her body was yelling at her for rest, begging for her to shut her eyes for an extended time. She would finally be able to give in, collapsing backwards, head hitting the pillow. Sansa decided to not even bother removing her dress, as she was too tired to do so.

Jaime removed nearly all his clothes before he was nice enough to get her dress off for her so she could be more comfortable, slowly moving it down her legs until it could be hung over a chair so there were no wrinkles—not that things like that mattered anymore.

Sansa pulled the covers down and tucked herself into a cocoon. The sheets were not as soft as she was used to but she had learned to not complain about such things. She considered herself lucky to just have a bed with sheets in the first place. Margaery had once told her that orphans were not always guaranteed bed to sleep on, sometimes tiny children had to be all huddled together on the ground to stay warm.

The thought made her grab at her stomach. _Her_ child would always have a bed to sleep in. It made Sansa feel slightly guilty about the privilege she had been granted.

_Stop thinking about the world’s problems_ , she told herself. She needed sleep, more than anything.

“Here,” said Jaime’s voice.

Sansa popped an eye open to see him crouched down next to her holding a cup of water. She brought her hand out from under the covers, suddenly being alerted to her thirst, and gulped down the entire contents of the cup.

“More?”

“No, thank you.”

Sansa snuggled back in, closing her eyes, listening to the sound of Jaime moving about until his weight sank down in the bed next to her. She wanted him closer to her, feeling him roll onto his side to face her. It was not enough.

“Jaime?” she mumbled against the pillow, it nearly swallowing her voice.

His head propped up. “Yes.”

“Can you come closer to me?”

Normally, she might have felt silly about such a question, about such a requirement. _But_ , she had his child in her, so she made an exception.

Jaime shifted his weight, wrapping an arm around her, hand falling flat on her belly where her hand also was. His thumb stroked the swollen skin in a comforting way. “Is this alright for you?” he asked, hesitant about the actions he had just taken.

“Yes,” she answered back honestly.

He kissed her cheek and whispered, “I’ll keep you safe.”

He murmured it right before he drifted off to sleep. For the first time, she believed him, and in his ability to do just that, to keep her safe. He had gotten her this far.

Sansa linked her fingers in between Jaime’s. “I know you will.”

—

Casterly Rock had a beautiful outlook of the Sunset Sea. Sansa found herself watching the sun go down most nights upon their arrival, her stomach growing rounder every time she sun said goodbye until morning.

When the small kicks in her stomach would rouse her out of bed, it was there that Sansa found her voice to pray again, the Sept in Casterly Rock a safe place. She prayed for a healthy child, a long life, and to one day reunite with her brother in the North. Jon Snow, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. She had some familial ties left.

It was then that she started to question if Arya was still out there too. There was never any body to surface, no word of her whereabouts. Sansa had come to the conclusion that Arya was smart enough to figure out a way to survive all those years.

_Maybe_ , she told herself.

She thought Jaime wouldn’t mind if Arya were to ever turn up that she could stay there with them. Of course, she would probably rather be with Jon, but Sansa had hope that if Arya ever showed up, she would make it better with her, build an actual sisterly relationship rather than one where they always fought. It would never be like what she experienced with Margaery, Sansa and Arya were too different, but it could be a relationship of sorts.

_Please,_ she prayed, _let Arya be safe._

—

When word hit that shortly after King Tommen Baratheon was dead along with Margaery Tyrell and may others in the explosion of the Great Sept, Sansa once again became restless. _Queen_ Cersei Lannister they had once again, and she was there alone, not even having her father there to control her.

A nightmare in the making.

Sansa wished she could flee to the North, back to Winterfell, back to her home. Casterly Rock had not yet felt like a home, though Sansa thought she could make a home out of it in time.

She had heard more about the dragons and the Dragon Queen…and maybe they would get to Cersei before Cersei got the chance to get to Sansa. Casterly Rock was far from King’s Landing, but not nearly far enough with Cersei alive. Sansa knew there was two ways the future would go. Either Cersei would be grief stricken at the loss of yet another son and her father and ignore Sansa and Jaime all together…or the alternative, she would seek revenge on something that was entirely out of Sansa’s control.

Sansa turned her head, out on a balcony that looked over the Sunset Sea, hoping that when the sun came back up, _maybe,_ if there was any justice in the world, the Dragon Queen would come across the Narrow Sea and keep Cersei occupied.

After everything, Sansa needed a life without constant looking over her shoulder and Sansa knew that one dragon to the Red Keep would solve her problems.

"You should sleep," Jaime told her from behind, coming to check on her like he always did.

Sansa didn't look over at him. Sometimes she was afraid of what she would see in her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed, I've extended this story to one more chapter! It made more sense that way rather than jam it all into one. Thanks for reading!


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